


Mr. Barton-Rogers

by Silent_journey



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_journey/pseuds/Silent_journey
Summary: The Avengers find safe harbor at a farmhouse.Then find out the farmer is Clint's husband.Then discover that Mr. Barton-Rogers is much more than he appears.Now complete.





	1. Safe Harbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why. My brain won't let me work on the sh*t I already started!!!

The last five years had been the most exciting Tony had ever experience. No matter who won or lost or died or survived with a hole in their chest, no one could deny exciting was an apt description. Tony was pretty sure there was a Chinese curse that went something like “May you live in interesting times”. The times had definitely been interesting. Even topping that time in Cancun in ‘99 which Rhodey had made him swear never to bring up again…

The point was that Tony Stark, world’s foremost philanthropist and no-longer-secret superhero, thought he couldn’t be surprised by much anymore. 

A fact which was sorely tested when Hawkeye landed the jet in the middle of some farmer’s field.

“I thought you were taking us to a safe house?” 

“I am, Stark. This is the safest house we’re going to find.” The archer stood from the pilot’s seat and went to Natasha’s side. The redheaded spy had been hit hard by whatever vision that freaky little witch had given her. She had been sitting ramrod straight staring at nothing during the entire flight. Not even Jan or Carol had been able to get a response and usually the women were pretty tight.

Clint was whispering something in Russian as he pulled the Black Widow to her feet. Tony had never seen her so shaken. It was freaking him out a bit. He turned away, gaze landing on their other troubled team member. 

Poor Bruce was huddled in a sweatshirt, which must have originally belonged to Thor from the way his frame swam in the fabric. Speaking of the blonde god, he carefully pulled Bruce to his feet, eyes still clouded as they had been since their run-in with the Maximoff twins.

Morale was at all time low as they trudged behind Clint.

Tony had to have faith that the team could pull it through with this Ultron business. Their track-record was pretty good and, as he had told the mad-god Loki, if they couldn’t save the world they would damn sure avenge it.

Clint continued to mutter in Russian as he led them along a small dirt track that had been made from a truck repeatedly running the path. To the right was a small rise in the land, blocking the view of what else was near. As they followed the path around the bend, a  farmhouse came into view.

Quaint was the first word that came to mind, though Tony didn’t give voice to it.

There was a big red barn, a chicken coop with at least a dozen of the fluffy white monsters, and a dusty blue pickup truck. Pure Americana. It looked like someone’s idealistic dream of farm life, though Tony certainly didn’t see the appeal for himself. 

“Who lives here,” Carol asked. 

Clint drew in a deep breath and release it on a long sigh. “Someone important. Someone who isn’t going to be exactly thrilled that you’re all here, but I promise this is the safest place in the world for us right now. It’s not on SHIELD’s books, so no way Ultron can access the information. Keeping this place off the record was the one requirement I had when SHIELD recruited me, and I know Coulson kept his word. Even went to bat with Fury about it.”

“That doesn’t actually answer my question,” Carol retorted.

However, Clint kept his mouth shut.

They were closer now. Tony spotted a stump with an axe dug into the middle. A pile of split logs around the base. On the porch was a wide swing with several colorful cushions. Everything, while not new, was in good condition and obviously cared for. 

Clint went up the porch steps first with Natasha, the rest of them following like little ducklings. The screen door screeched as he pulled it open and a dog began to bark from somewhere inside. The scrabbling of nails on the hardwood heralded the arrival of a bouncy pooch.

“Alright, alright. Down Lucky!” Clint helped Natasha into a chair, then turned to give the dog the affection it was seeking. While he scratched behind the dog’s ears, Clint began to make introductions. “Everyone this is Lucky. He’s good, just try not to sneak up on his left side. He spooks easy.”

Jan made a cooing noise, one of those ones that women inevitably made around small children and animals. “What happened to his eye? Poor baby.” Tony finally noticed that the retriever’s left eye was missing, giving some context to Clint’s earlier statement. 

“Long story,” the archer replied. “Maybe I’ll tell it some other time.” He straightened from the crouch he’d fallen into and sighed. “Umm, so… Listen, there are some things that I haven’t shared with the class. Not because I don’t trust you. I do. I trust you enough for me, but if I would have told you then other people would have been in danger, which I was not willing to chance. I mean Natasha only knows because she totally stalked me home one time and-”

There was a deep chuckle from the other end of the room. All of them had been so focused on Clint’s uncharacteristic rambling that they had missed the stranger entering. The blonde was smiling and though Clint was looking nervous he didn’t look on edge or defensive like he would if the man was a threat.

He strode right up to Clint’s side, invading the former assassin’s space in a way that no one besides Natasha would dare. “Relax,” he told Clint, laying one large hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. 

Something about the man made Tony uncomfortable. His gut was screaming at him. “And this must be an agent…”

The blonde chuckled again, shaking his head. The smile on his face above a short scruffy beard was wholesome, exactly the sort of thing that Tony would imagine on a simple farmer, but the twinkle in his eyes beneath a battered baseball cap screamed mischief. Not to mention that his physique was more American Gladiator than Green Acres. The gray t-shirt was stretched tight over an impressive set of shoulders, while faded denim jeans hugged lean hips. “I think I’ll just introduce myself. If I leave it to Clint we’ll be here all day. I’m Steve.” He offered a little wave with his free hand. “It’s very nice to meet you all. Clint’s told me alot about you.”

“Well we’ve heard absolutely nothing about you,  _ Steve _ ,” Tony snarked.

Steve made a face before ducking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck. “That would be my fault. When Clint and I met I was trying to find a quiet life, a peaceful place. I didn’t want to deal with the world anymore. Ever since then he’s been keeping my secrets.” He met their gazes once more, sheepish expression on his features. “After L- After the battle of New York and the way you trusted him when even SHIELD didn’t, I told him I’d help if any of you ever needed it. But Natasha said that we should keep things undercover until it was absolutely necessary.”

“And I was right.” Everyone turned to see Natasha looking far more lucid than she had in hours. “Hello, Steve.”

The blonde farmer smiled fondly down at the spy. “Hello Nat. I take it things have hit the fan in a big way?”

“Oh yeah,” Carol replied for her. “A very big way.”

Jan stepped forward with her trademark smile, the one that charmed even the most hardened reporters. “We are terribly sorry to intrude without warning, but we appreciate you offering us shelter. Let me know if there’s something I can do to help while we’re here.”

Steve met her hand in a firm shake. “It’s no problem, ma’am. And thank you for the offer, I’ll let you know.” 

The others were making their own introductions. Shaking hands, thanking this stranger. Then Clint was describing where bathrooms and bedrooms were located. Steve was giving everyone permission to take whatever they’d like from the kitchen.

Tony watched the scene silently. That uncomfortable feeling in his gut was growing. He didn’t trust this “Steve”. There was something familiar and yet not about the blonde giant. He had muscles for days, but when he had ducked his head he looked like some innocent little schoolboy. Innocent little school boys didn’t need to go looking for a quiet life. They usually already had one. 

“Excuse me!” Heads snapped in his direction. “Does no one else have questions about this? Anybody have problems with this whole scenario?”

Jan and Carol were rolling their eyes. Tony could feel it though he kept his gaze on Clint and Steve. The archer was scowling, eyes narrowed, but Steve didn’t seem fazed at all. His smile was still firmly on his lips; his hand still holding onto Clint’s shoulder as if to keep him from moving.

“You’re welcome to ask your questions Mr. Stark? I might not answer them, but you can still ask.”

“Okay. Exactly where are we? And who exactly are you?”

Steve smirked. “You’re on our farm, in our home.”

“Our?” 

Steve’s smirk transformed into a grin as he pulled Clint closer to him, turning toward the man and capturing his lips in a kiss. Not a brotherly kiss. A full-on, tongue and teeth, carnal kiss. Clint, the wary agent, melted against the taller man. A muffled moan filling the air between them. When Steve finally drew back, Clint was looking a bit dazed. Steve had a confident grin as he held up his left hand displaying a simple gold band. “Ours,” he stated firmly.

Tony knew that his mouth was gaping open, but he was pretty sure that his brain had cut the control to his jaw muscles since he couldn’t seem to close it.

“Well that explains a lot,” Bruce mumbled into to ensuing silence.

Natasha slid to her feet silently. “Any other questions Stark?”

“Uhh… N-no. Nope. No questions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be kind. I literally did this in one night. And its now 4am and I am posting everything even though I have spent zero time editing.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor had disappeared after that. Off to “seek a vision” or some such nonsense. 

Bruce, Jan, and Carol had taken advantage of the showers and fresh clothes. Apparently Natasha had a permanent room here and was able to provide the ladies with acceptable attire. Natasha herself had been in conference with Steve and Clint out on the front lawn for some time. Steve, while participating in the discussion, was keeping his hands busy chopping more wood on the stump Tony had spotted.

Tony watched the three of them from a comfortable spot on the front porch.

He didn’t understand why Clint had kept this a secret. He could understand keeping the knowledge from the public, but why keep it from his team. They had been through so much together. Aliens, mad scientists, terrorists, political inquiries, mutated monkeys. Not to mention the killer robot they currently faced. 

He had to admit that Clint seemed happy with his chosen partner. He never would have pegged Clint for having a husband though, not with the way Natasha was usually all over him. Secret farm? Sure, that was easy to accept from a former assassin/spy. But secret husband. Surprise! 

Also, that said husband looked like he was rocking at least an eight-pack under that ridiculously tight t-shirt. 

“Are you going to stare at them all day?”

Jan giggled when Tony startled.

“I’m not staring. I’m observing.”

“Sure, Tony. What is it that’s got you so worked up about this? Clint’s entitled to his secrets. And not to point fingers, but I’m pretty sure you convinced everyone that Iron Man was your bodyguard for the first few years there.”

Tony huffed. “I thought we agreed to let that go.”

“We did. I’m only trying to figure out why you’re scowling at Clint’s significant other like the man stole your date to prom, when you’ve only just met him.”

Tony didn’t answer. He knew something was wrong with this whole situation. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was time to go to the source.

He marched down the porch steps and over to where the three were still deep in conversation. A conversation which halted when he drew near. 

“Something you need, Stark,” Natasha questioned. 

“Nope. Thought I’d help Mr. Barton here with the wood chopping thing. Do my part for the home front,” he quipped.

Steve raised a brow, and made a sweeping hand gesture to  _ go ahead _ . 

While he split the first few pieces, the others simply watched in silence. Then Clint stepped up beside Steve, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m headed inside. Need to get cleaned up and find some food for the vultures.”

“I’ll be in soon,” Steve assured.

Clint turned to go, but Steve caught his hand. Pausing Clint lifted an inquiring brow. Steve said nothing, instead lifting Clint’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. It was a romantic old-fashioned gesture that had the faintest tinge of red blossoming on Clint’s cheeks.

The archer snatched his hand back and hurried away. Natasha rolled her eyes, but shared a smile with Steve before turning to follow.

After a few more logs, Steve held out his hand for the axe. Tony acquiesced.

A solid twenty minutes passed as they took turns, before Tony could no longer hold it in. 

“So Mr. Barton. Where did you serve?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t deny it. You’re obviously a military man. You’ve got that straight-shoulders,‘yes ma’am’ schtick going.” Steve set down the axe. “I get why you wanted the quiet life and all. PTSD can be a bitch. I’m just trying to work out if the military angle is why Clint hid all of this. Or are you actually a former agent? I feel like I’ve seen you before, but I can’t place it. Were you in Afghanistan?”

“No. Never been.” 

Tony would have asked more questions but Jan called that food was ready from the porch. Steve gave her a wave of acknowledgment before heading toward the house.

“I’ll figure this out,” Tony called after him. “I’ll figure  _ you _ out.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lunch or brunch or whatever was comprised of sandwich fixinings, sugary breakfast cereals, and fresh fruit. Tony had filled his plate and taken a seat right across from Steve. The better to observe the man. 

Steve had simply shrugged and carried on eating. Obviously unconcerned under Tony’s scrutiny. 

It was actually Clint who had finally taken offense. 

“Knock it off,” Clint growled. 

“I’m not doing a thing, Legolas.”

“You’re staring at my husband.”

“...Well yes. But not in a lecherous way. Though he is nice in the looks department, so good on ya.” Clint made another growly noise. “But I’m definitely not looking at him for that.”

Steve laid a hand on Clint’s forearm, calming the man significantly. “He thinks I look familiar,” Steve informed him, with a lilt to his voice that almost sounded like amusement. 

Giggles erupted from the corner, where Natasha had perched herself on the counter. The Avengers all shared looks of concern as Natasha was definitely not the giggling type. 

Only Clint and Steve seemed unaffected. 

“Oh god,” she wheezed between laughs. “You have to tell him. I can’t - I can’t hold it in anymore.”

Clint was still scowling, but Steve sighed. “I thought we were going to wait. It was your idea to do it all at once.”

It took a moment for Natasha to respond as laughter kept stealing her breath. “Okay. Okay. Yes. It will be completely worth it to wait.” She hopped down from the counter and came over to pat Steve on the head. “So worth it,” she repeated before striding out the back door. 

Laughter floated back to them on the breeze, but no one moved to follow the Black Widow.

“All right. That’s it.” Tony pulled out his phone from his pocket. “I might not have JARVIS currently but I still have google. Smile for the camera,” he taunted as he pointed it in Steve’s direction.

Now it was Clint’s turn to laugh. “There’s no cell reception here. No internet either.”

Tony gasped, aghast. “What?! Oh my god, this is some kind of Stockholm prisoner of war thing isn’t it? Are you being held here against your will,” he directed to Steve. “Blink three times slowly if you need help.”

“Not having internet isn’t some type of cruel or unusual punishment,” Steve said.

“Says you,” Tony retorted. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve went back to eating his lunch. 


	4. Chapter 4

The evening was setting in when the sound of a vehicle approaching could be heard. Sound traveled remarkably well here. Though part of that was probably due to there not being that many noises to begin with. 

Tony was back on the porch. Enjoying a glass of Clint’s sweet tea, Tony was discussing various solutions to their current problems with his favorite genius. Other than himself.

They both watched warily as a gray sedan came up the drive, slowed and finally stopped. 

Clint stepped out the front door, and Natasha came up alongside him. They looked tense yet still relaxed. Which in spy code meant ally but possibly not a friend. 

Sure enough, out of the passenger door came Nick Fury. Definitely an ally, but in no way a friend. From the driver’s side came Coulson, looking as calm and competent as ever.

“Barton. Romanov,” Coulson greeted. “Good to see you alive.”

“Good to be alive, sir,” Clint replied. 

“You two want to tell me why I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, on a motherfucking farm when there’s a genocidal robot on the loose” was Fury’s addition.

The noise had drawn the others out. The Avengers were all crowded on the porch, until Clint stepped down the stairs to meet the two directors. “Yes, sir. I thought we could use a safe port in the storm...” The screen door opened one last time to let Steve out. “And some reinforcements.”

“What the hell kind of reinforcements you got hiding out here Barton? Unless you’ve got a metal-bending mutant in your back pocket, I don’t think anyone around here is going to be useful.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Natasha muttered.

Tony was keeping one eye on Steve. He was rubbing a hand over his beard in a way that spoke of regret. As he started forward down the steps, he pulled the ballcap off his head and tucked it into his back pocket.

Tony saw the moment Fury and Coulson spotted him. He saw the way Coulson’s eyes widened, his hand twitching. He saw the way Fury slid one foot back, brushing his long coat out of the way of his holster.

There was a deep silence that Tony didn’t understand as Steve confidently strode out to stand by Clint’s side.

“I may not be a mutant exactly. But I’d still like to offer my help.”

Coulson seemed to choke. He cleared his throat once before he spoke. “You’re Steve Rogers.”

Steve smiled then. A bright, sunny thing. “Actually it’s Rogers-Barton now, but yes. Captain Steve Rogers, US Army. Retired.”

“Like fuck you’re retired! You are motherfucking MIA. Assumed killed in action since Stark searched for you for thirty god damn years without a single piece of the Valkyrie ever turning up.”

Tony knew what a heart attack felt like. He knew what his heart stopping felt like too. The feeling in his chest right now was a little like fire and a lot like shock. Suddenly he knew. That face had been on posters in his childhood bedroom. That face had been one that his father had stared at while swallowing down another scotch and ordering another ship out to search for wreckage. It was the same face that Tony had torn down from his walls when he realized his father would never stop comparing him to a ghost. 

His hands dug into the porch railing in front of him. For support or as anchor. “Are you fucking kidding me, Hawkeye?! You married Captain America!”

Clint tossed a smirk over his shoulder. “You bet your ass.”

“I, for one, am impressed,” Jan chimed in. “Especially by  _ his _ ass.”

Then everyone was talking at once.

“Are you sure he’s not an LMD?”

“How the hell did you survive?”

“Where have you-”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Is that-”

A sharp whistle broke through the chaos.

All heads turned to Steve was lowering his fingers from his lips. “How about we take this inside? We’re pretty isolated but Ultron will probably have gotten his hands on some satellites now and it’s possible someone thought to track two high ranking SHIELD personnel.”

The insight had the agents tensing though it wasn’t all that surprisingly. Tony had heard all about how Steve was a tactical genius.

Carol and Natasha were the ones to herd everyone inside. They all found seats in the living room and turned their attention to Steve.

“Storytime, Cap,” Tony called as he leaned against the wall, refusing to take a seat. “And I want answers this time. No more mysterious BS.”

Clint laid his hand over Steve’s in support.

“I’ve read the all the history books,” he started. “All the theories about what happened to me. A morbid hobby you might say. They got at least most of it right.” He graced them all with what was supposed to be a grin, but looked more like a grimace.

“The Valkyrie couldn’t be allowed to get to New York. The controls were damaged. The landing gear blasted off during the fighting. I had to put it down. No choice. The only options were the ice or the water. I knew I was going to die.”

Clint’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed his husband’s hand, but the Captain simply nudged him with a shoulder and kept talking.

“It would be a lie to say I wasn’t scared, but I was willing to make the sacrifice. Didn’t have much waiting for me anyway. I managed to steer it toward the ice, figuring Howard and the SSR would want to recover the wreckage. The impact knocked me unconscious. When I came to, I was still buckled into that chair. Somehow the windshield in front of me was still intact, in fact most of the cockpit was. But the whole bird was dangling on the edge, about ready to slip forward into the water. I could see it. So dark it was nearly black. I was able to get out of the chair, even found my shield, but there was no way out. All the openings were blocked by the ice. I had to punch my own hole. Problem with that was, when I started it shook loose the whole plane. I was able to make it out, but the plane tipped over the edge into the water.”

Steve paused. Of all things, Tony expected, he didn’t expect the flash of guilt that came over Steve’s face before he started again. “You have to understand, there was nothing there. Nothing. Just water and ice and wind. It was a wasteland and I knew help wasn’t coming. I tried walking anyway. Just picked a direction and kept going. It was days at least though I couldn’t really tell you how long. The sun doesn’t work quite the same at those latitudes. Eventually my body started shutting down. Not enough energy to keep going on the little fuel I’d had. I found a place, a crevice of sorts. I laid down and… And well I guess you’d call it hypothermia right? You get so numb and so tired. You sort of just drift off…

His voice trailed off, eyes going distant. Tony had seen that look before. It was the look he had seen in the mirror after returning from Afghanistan. Clint squeezed the Captain’s hand again, drawing him back from the shadows.

“The ice was constantly shifting and during one of the shifts my little hideaway got exposed. I woke up a few times. Woke up to find that my body had started to freeze. My legs, my arms, even my chest. I couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t seem to matter. I was still alive. Impossibly. My cells didn’t care that I was paralysed. That there was no oxygen in my lungs. My shield had been covering most of my face so my eyes were the last thing I lost. I couldn’t even see anymore when I woke.”

The room was silent. The audience to this horror story hardly dared to breathe loudly. For all of the torment this man’s ghost had caused him, Tony was horrified. There was so much Steve wasn’t saying, but Tony could imagine. He could see it in the haunted eyes the war hero wore.

“I was there for years. Stuck in the ice. Unable to move. Unable to see. But I could hear. I could hear the ice cracking and the wind howling beyond that. In the nineties, the ice shifted and broke. I was sent floating. The water rushing around my little prison kept me awake. I could feel the layers of ice between me and the water melting. But it was slowly. Oh so slowly. Eventually, I drifted into the path of a boat, which was doing some kind of ecological study. They plucked me up, but assumed I was dead. Not wanting to start some kind of race for my body, dragging unnecessary boats or planes or people out to where they were studying, they kept things quiet. I thawed out beneath a tarp in their hold.” 

He smirked, a twinkle re-entering those hollow eyes. “Scared those scientists half to death when I dragged myself into the mess one morning.”

“I stayed with them for a few weeks. All the while they explained how the world had evolved. It was a bit disjointed, each of them offering their own expertise on topics they knew. When we hit land they offered me shelter, offered to help me get back home. But I already knew home was gone. I took a few supplies they were willing to give me and started to make my own way. I eventually got back to the US, where I buried myself in research. I practically lived in the library for that first year. I was able to find some good honest work, make enough money to get by on. The trouble was getting by without any ID. That took some doing sometimes.”

“I don’t get it,” Tony interrupted. “You had to know you were a national hero, an icon. You could have let those men announce how they’d found you. The military, the government, and especially SHIELD would have jumped at the chance to help you.”

Steve squared his shoulders slightly and met Tony’s gaze. “Captain America was a national hero. I’m just Steve Rogers. And the world had moved on without me.”

“I think we should but the rest of this on hold,” Clint said before Tony could retort. “We have bigger problems to worry about.”

There was nothing to say to dispute that, so Tony allowed the conversation to turn to ways of defeating Ultron.


	5. Chapter 5

_ 1996 - Age 14 _

 

Clint knew he was in trouble.

He should have just let it go. Walked away.

But the mousy little kid in those big glasses had glanced his way and Clint had seen the terror. Surrounded by four older boys, the kid didn’t stand a chance.

Not had Clint stood much of one either.

But he’d picked up a rock and winged at the one closest to the kid. It had slammed into the back of the boy’s skull with a thud, making him stumble forward.

“Ya’ll better leave him alone,” he’d threatened, grabbing up another stone.

With their focus now on him, the mousy kid had been able to escape. Of course that meant that Clint now had all of their attention.

He tried to run first, but he hadn’t quite gotten that last growth spurt he was hoping for. The older boys longer legs had let them catch up to him far too quick.

They were in some alley now. Brick buildings on both sides, a chain link fence behind his back. His lungs were burning from the mad dash, his heart pounding with adrenaline.

He knew what was coming.

The first punch landed high on his left cheek. The second in his gut. He doubled over, only to be subjected to a kick. After that he lost track, all his attention on protecting his head and curling himself as small as possible to give his attackers less of a target area.

“Hey!”

Suddenly, the blows stopped. Clint didn’t dare to look up yet. It could be that they’d tired of the game. Or it could be that they were only discussing what to do next.

When a high-pitched squeal rent the air, Clint peeked out from beneath his arms. One of his assailants was hanging three feet off the ground, suspended by a stranger’s single fist wrapped in his shirt collar. The man was speaking softly, and Clint couldn’t hear what was being said. When he stopped speaking however, he looked at the other three boys with contempt. 

“Go,” he commanded, as he released his hold the first one, who fell gracelessly to the ground. 

When they didn’t move fast enough, he shouted. “Go!” They scattered.

The stranger watched the boys until they were out of sight then he turned to Clint.

Clint only stared up at him wide-eyed when the man held out a hand to help him up. Dazed, by the beating or the rescue, Clint allowed himself to be led to the curb where the stranger helped him to sit.

Surprisingly, his rescuer remained silent while he took a seat beside Clint and then began rummaging in a worn looking backpack. His hand finally resurface with a water bottle. The blonde popped the top and squeezed a bit into his own mouth before handing it over to Clint. Clint took it automatically, then simply stared at it.

The stranger chuckled. “Relax kid. It really is just water.” 

Clint turned his gaze on the man. He had a nice smile, even if it was obscured by the scruffy facial hair. His eyes were the brightest blue Clint had ever seen, almost mesmerizing. The man looked to be in good shape, and his actions with those bullies certainly pointed to him being fit. But… His clothes definitely weren’t new. They were patched in places and the seams looked worn. Just like his backpack. Whoever this man was, he was down on his luck.

Clint finally turned his attention back to the water in his hand and brought it to his lips. It felt good. He cleared his throat. “You saved my life.”

The buff guy shrugged. “Just helping where I can.”

Clint considered this for a long moment. No one had ever done something for him for free. There was always a price. Always. That was how life worked. If this stranger had saved him it was for a purpose. “I don’t have any money,” he began. Mentally steeling himself, he laid a hand on the man’s thigh. “But I can pay you.”

Blue eyes narrowed in confusion before widening in horror.  He slid far enough over that Clint’s hand fell off his leg. “No! No, son. I’m not looking for anything.” Then as if that was the end of the discussion, the man pulled a sketchbook and a few pencils from his bag. 

There was a silence filled only with the skritch-scratch of pencil over paper.

“Name’s Clint Barton.”

The man paused and looked up. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Now Clint had been with Carson’s Circus for nearly half his life now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know some of the same things that regular kids knew. He had heard the name Steve Rogers before. His gaze sharpened, taking in the man in a new light. It couldn’t be… Could it?

“You still saved my life,” he persisted.

Steve hummed an affirmative sound.

“So wha’ do ya want?”

The skitch-scratch of the pencil paused. “I don’t want anything, son.”

Clint didn’t buy that for a minute. Everyone wanted something. But if this really was who he thought it was, then… “What do you need, Steve?”

That had the man finally looking at him. Those blue eyes seemed lost for a moment. Confused. Like he hadn’t thought about that question in a long time. “I need a quiet place,” Steve breathed. He was still after the admission, as if it had surprised him.

“Don’t we all dude.”

Clint’s retort made Steve chuckled and turn back to his sketching.

Clint was silent for a long time, simply watching. He could feel bruises forming over his body, but he was reluctant to move. He knew he had to go back. Barney, his only family, would be waiting for him. But there was something he could offer this lost hero.

“Gimme,” he ordered Steve, pointing to the pencil in his hand.

With a raised brow, Steve handed it over. Clint leaned into his space, writing out an address on the corner of the page of Steve’s sketchbook.

“What’s this?”

“That’s mine. Well it will be mine. It’s being held or some shit until I’m old enough. But no one is livin’ there. Not a lot of neighbors but not too far from town. It belonged to my grandparents. They died about a year before my folks. You can stay there if you want. No rent.” Steve’s brow was furrowed though his hands were clutching at the edges of his notebook like he was trying hard not to reach for something.

“It’s quiet,” Clint added, putting emphasis on a last word.

Steve smiled, his brow smoothing out. Clint felt his heart thump hard in his chest. The smile was bright and warm like sunshine. It did something funny to his stomach.

“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely, though his hands still held tight to the notebook. “I appreciate the offer but you don’t even know me.”

Clint shook his head. “Yeah I do. I know who you are.”

The older man must have heard the conviction in his voice because his smile dropped away and he studied Clint’s serious face for a long moment. “You know?”

“Yeah. I’m the Amazing Hawkeye,” he pronounced proudly. “I recognize you.” 

While Steve sat stunned, Clint slowly levered himself to his feet. His body protested, but he made it. Looking down, he held out the pencil he had borrowed.

Steve’s blue eyes jumped from the pencil to his face and back. Uncurling one hand from his notebook, he reached up and took the pencil. 

Clint didn’t release his hold. Not until Captain America looked him right in the eye. An understanding passed between them. Clint was offering a safe place and Steve was accepting.

He release his grip and turned to walk away. He paused after only a few steps, turning back to find the lost hero staring at him intently. “There’s no rent,” he called. “But I expect a porch swing when I come to visit.”

Steve’s laughter followed him until he turned the corner.


	6. Chapter 6

_1998 - Age 16_

 

Everything hurt. His ribs. His arm. His head.

Especially his heart.

His heart was broken, and Clint knew it wasn’t ever going to heal.

His brother had betrayed him. Left him to die.

He wasn’t dead yet though.

He wasn’t dead yet.

And there was a little place in Iowa where he knew he could find some comfort.

 

###

 

_1998 - Age 16 ½_

 

Traveling turned out to be a lot harder on his own. Hitchhiking had it’s own risks, and he could only walk so far in a day.

He needed money.

What little he had went to food and bandages for his still healing wounds.

He was going to make it Iowa though. Come hell or high water he would make it.

 

###

 

_1999 - Age 17_

 

Iowa felt like a dream now. A misty vision that faded when he woke. In the daylight, he had to focus on living. Putting one foot in front of the other.

Clint had gotten his hands on a new bow. He didn’t want to think about what he had done to get it. The important thing was he had it.

He had found employment, of a sort. These were the kind of people that lived in the gray shades of the world, and each day Clint found himself slipped into darker and darker colors. He kept telling himself this was the last job. But one turned into two turned into twelve.

He tried not to think about Iowa. Tried not to picture the disappointment that would fill blue eyes if they were watching him now.

Iowa was a pipe dream, and Clint was living in the sewers.

 

###

 

_2000 - Age 18_

 

Betrayal shouldn’t be a surprise for him anymore.

Double-crossing and a knife to the back should have been expected.

Still it had caught Clint off guard and unprepared.

He’d come out on top. Somehow. But he knew he couldn’t still around. It was time to move on. Maybe it was time to seek out Iowa.

 

###

 

_2000 - Age 18 ¼_

 

He’d meant to go straight there. He really had. He hadn’t meant to get distracted.

Clint wasn’t even sure what he’d find if he got there. Maybe there would only be an empty crumbling farmhouse. Maybe more. But he couldn’t count on anything, even if all his secret hopes pointed him that way.

So when the opportunity arose for a well-paid job to take out a man no better than a slave trader, Clint had taken it.

It had felt good to release the arrow, to watch it sprout from the man’s throat.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like those blue eyes would be proud.

 

###

 

_ 2001 - Age 19 ¾  _

 

He was able to pick his own contracts now. He had learned through painful trial and error how to be the best.

He called himself Ronin, and wore a mask to protect himself.

He used the arrow when he had to but it wasn’t his only weapon. It would always be his favorite but leaving a signature was sometimes a bad thing.

He knew the police were looking for him. Others were looking for him took. Men in dark suits. FBI maybe. He wasn’t sure and he never stuck around to find out when they got to close.

He had been at this for over a year now. He wanted a break. A quiet place.

It was time. Iowa was waiting.

He was sure that judgment was waiting too, but perhaps the good he had done in the last year would help balance the scales.


	7. Chapter 7

_ 2001 - Age 19 ¾  _

 

It had only taken a week to get there once he made up his mind. 

Now he was driving up the snow-dusted dirt track and wondering what he would find. Rounding the bend, he hit the brakes and simply stared.

It was beautiful.

Oh god. It was perfect.

The skeleton of the house looked the same as he remembered, but everything else was different. The place had been brought to life. Warm light spilled out of the windows and onto the fresh fallen snow. A huge stack of split wood was lined up beside the house, and smoke slowly climbing out of the chimney showed that it would be put to be good use. Candles burned merrily in the upper windows, decorations for the approaching holiday no doubt. Though Clint had only just realized how close Christmas was.

There was a big red barn farther back. One that Clint didn’t remember being there before. The red paint stood out starkly against the snow covered ground. 

It was like a postcard. 

Or one of those cheezy Christmas movies that filled the tv around this time. 

He eased off the brake and crept forward. He couldn’t quite believe it. He had been preparing himself to find nothing. Instead, there was the picturesque bubble of peace.

He threw the car in park and continued to stare.

He was only broken from his daze when the front door opened and a familiar figure stepped out onto the porch. Steve stood with his arms at his side, but tensed. Ready to fight if he had to.

Clint couldn’t keep him in suspense. He exited the car and stepped into the light.

He heard Steve’s swiftly indrawn breath when their gazes locked.

Silence reigned for a long minute as they both catalogued the changes in the other.

Steve looked good. Not as worn as the last time Clint had seen him. He could only imagine what the lost hero saw when he looked at him though.

Finally Steve grinned, inclining his head to the left. “It’s a little chilly, but you’re welcome to use it.”

Confused Clint glanced to the left. A porch swing swayed the tiniest bit in the breeze.

The sight startled a happy laugh from his chest. Turning back to Steve, he watched the older man’s smile grow. It grew until it filled his whole face, his eyes twinkling so brightly that Clint could see the shine even from a distance.

As he climbed the porch steps, he felt like the betrayals and disappointments of the last few years were lifting from his shoulders. If only for a moment, he could be at peace.

 

###

 

Christmas passed and the new year was on the horizon.

Clint had fallen into the rhythm of the farmhouse with ease. Perhaps he had always been meant for the simple life. Or perhaps it was Steve’s presence that made everything so easy.

Clint knew he could be happy here. Permanently. He could leave everything else behind. Not worry about a single part of the outside world. There was only one thing he needed. One little thing that could bind him here forever...or send him running.

Though the weather wasn’t the best, they had taken to spending a bit a time on the porch swing in the evenings. Bundled up against the cold, they sat shoulder to shoulder. Most nights Steve had spent the time telling Clint about all the changes he had made to the property. Some nights they were silent. 

Clint hadn’t told Steve about his profession, about the things he had done in order to get here. Steve hadn’t pushed.

Tonight, things were about to change.

There had been a solid five minutes of silence before Clint spoke, eyes trained straight ahead. “I kill people,” he dropped into the silence, like a boulder dropping onto the surface of a still pond.

He expected ripples, outrage, something.

Instead, he got, “I do to. When I have to. War isn’t war without a pile of bodies on either side of the lines.”

Incredulous, he snapped his eyes to Steve’s face. “I’m not at war!”

“Who says,” Steve replied, easy as ever. “Tell me you haven’t been fighting your whole life. To survive. Tell me you haven’t felt that desperate creeping knowledge that either you have to die or the man on the other side has to for the spectre of death to be appeased.”

“It isn’t the same,” Clint argued. He was thrown by this easy acceptance for a man who had always been portrayed as a font of righteousness.

Steve shrugged. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Just tell me this: Have you ever killed just for fun? Just to watch the life fade from another man’s eyes?”

Clint couldn’t speak, but he shook his head. 

A one-shoulder shrug was Steve’s response. “Then you’ve done the best you could.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Clint was closing the space between them. Smashing their lips together with little finesse. Startled, Steve floundered, hands waving before they landed just above Clint’s hips. Clint gentled the kiss, pouring himself into it. With a groan, Steve finally began to respond. Tongues tangled as Clint pressed himself closer to Steve’s chest.

When Clint drew back for a breath, Steve seemed to come back to himself. “No,” he stated, holding Clint in place. “We can’t do this.”

Carefully Steve extracted himself from Clint’s hands and stood. “You’re a child Clint. I can’t do this,” he told him regretfully, his back to the younger man.

“So I’m old enough to take a life, but not old enough for you to want me,” Clint spit at that turned back.

“That’s not it,” Steve said softly in reply. “I’m sorry.” He went back into the house, leaving Clint in the cold.

Clint knew he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t. The bubble of peace had popped. There was nothing left here.


	8. Chapter 8

_ 2002 - Age 20 _

 

Spring found Clint on the run. 

Not just from his feelings.

Those men in dark suits had been getting closer and closer. Clint needed to change tactics. Throw them off his trail.

He buried Ronin in a secure box.

Hawkeye was born. Hawkeye was different than Ronin. While Ronin had worn a mask, Hawkeye was a mask. He was talkative and charming. He would fall into bed with a sure mistake simply for the fun of it. He was messy in his own space almost in rebellion of how calculatingly careful he had to be on his jobs.

Hawkeye drew attention, but Clint didn’t care. More than once he waved to the men following him from a rooftop before leading them on a merry chase with a laugh. 

It was reckless and dangerous. Yet, it was only in those moments when his blood was pounding that he felt alive. He didn’t have to think about anything but the next trick he would pull to lead his pursuers off track.

In the quiet moments between jobs, when there were no ready distractions, Clint would find himself looking out the window of whatever bolt hole he was in and wondering. Wondering about Iowa.

 

###

 

_ 2002 - Age 20 ½ _

 

“The organization I represent would like to offer you a position, Hawkeye. I assure you this an opportunity you would be wise to take.”

The rain was pouring down on them both: the Suit who was speaking, and Clint who was bleeding from the thigh and laying on the concrete. 

Unable to help himself, Clint began to laugh. “Is this- Is this a fucking recruitment?”

The Suit shifted slightly, but his expression didn’t change from the blandness it had been the whole time. “Yes. SHIELD is been very interested in you.”

Still laughing, Clint let his head fall back and his eyes close. “Yeah sure, Suit. Let’s hear your pitch.”

“My name is Agent Coulson, Mr. Barton. I would prefer to do this out of the rain, but if you like…”

“Yeah sure. Let’s get out of the rain,” Clint retorted. 

Then two men were “assisting” him to his feet and strapping him down in an ambulance where the bullet hole in his leg was wrapped.

 

###

 

_ 2003 - Age 21 ½  _

 

Six months with SHIELD and he had finally been cleared to be off base without an escort. He had three days of free time before the his next mission. Three days was just enough time. Just enough.

He caught a plane and then a bus and then one very expensive cab, before hiking the rest of the way.

Summer looked good on the property. It smelled of sun and growing things. The house, when he finally made it around the last bend, looked like a dream as much as it had that winter.

This time Steve saw him first. He was standing in front of a pen that held a flock of squawking chickens, one hand raised to shade his eyes against the sun. He dropped the bucket he was holding and started toward him without hesitation.

Clint froze on the spot, unsure of reception. He shouldn’t have worried.

Steve stepped right into his space and threw his arms around the younger man in a tight embrace. “You’re here,” Steve breathed into his hair.

Shocked, Clint simply stood and endured the hug.

When Steve stepped back, he didn’t release the young man, he only moved his hands to his shoulders. “Please don’t do that again. Please,” he nearly begged. “Promise me that you’ll contact me more. Or leave me a way to contact you. Please.”

Undone by the desperation, Clint nodded. “Yeah Steve. Yeah. I promise.”

 

###

 

_ 2003 - Age 21 ½  _

 

“Barton.”

“Sir?”

“I’d like to talk to you about Iowa.”

Clint’s fingers hesitated the barest hint as he selected his next arrow. He had no doubt that Coulson had seen it. Yet he still tried the bluff. “I hear it’s a good place for farming, but not sure what that has to do with me.”

Silence from Coulson. 

Clint glanced at the older man’s face out of the corner of his eye. Bland as always. 

“Six months probation with constant surveillance, and while you have had a habit of evading those who were supposed to escort you, you never went off base. The first chance you get, instead of heading into the city for a little recreation like most of our recruits, you get on a plane.”

Clint shrugged. “Still don’t see how Iowa is involved, sir. That plane went to Nebraska.”

A single brow raised.

Turning away from his target, he faced Coulson head on. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“No.”

“Then exactly why are we having this conversation? Sir.”

“You are not like our other recruits Barton. You are a very special case. And I have taken a particular interest in your development here. I want to make sure there is nothing that is going to hinder your progress. So… What exactly is in Iowa?”

Clint allowed the Hawkeye mask to drop away. For just a moment, he let Coulson see what lay beneath. “If SHEILD wants me, then Iowa stays off the books.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Barton.”

“No, it isn’t.”

They stared at each other for several long minutes of silence. It was Coulson who broke first. He nodded just once. “Iowa stays off book. For now.”

With another nod, Coulson retreated, leaving Clint to the empty range.

 

###

 

_ 2005 - Age 23 _

 

The letters came to a PO Box Clint had set up just outside the city. It was a small post office, one where most everyone knew everyone else. He made sure to stop in often, to make friends with the employees. He asked about Simone’s kids and about Gil’s arthritis.

If anyone came asking after him they would protect him he was certain. 

Though Captain America had never been known for stealth, Steve Rogers seemed to adapt to it quickly. They wrote in code. Never using names, incase their letters were ever intercepted. Steve would keep him updated on the daily happenings at the farm, on the small-town gossip, on the shenanigans of the chickens. Clint would write about training, about meeting the fearsome women of SHIELD like Hill, about Coulson and Clint’s mission to categorize his endless bland expressions.

They never spoke about the single kiss they had shared, or how neither one of them had had a lover since Clint had shown back up two years ago.

As the weeks became months, the letters got longer. It wasn’t unusual for Clint to receive five pages in a single envelope. 

They talked about dreams and plans that had never come to fruition.

They talked tactics and how Clint had set new records on SHIELD’s training courses. 

They talked about salvation and redemption and the redheaded target that Clint hadn’t hit.

Every single letter that appeared in that PO Box was signed by IA. Iowa. Because Steve was a sap.

But the words just above that signature evolved over time. In the beginning it was ‘Stay safe, IA’. Then it became ‘Missing you, IA’. Then came the day that had Clint gasping, and Natasha glancing up from the book she was reading on his couch.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, too harshly.

She raised a brow but said nothing. Attention turning back to the pages propped on her knees.

There, in the black ink Steve always used, was something Clint had secretly been longing for. 

Love, IA


	9. Chapter 9

2015 

 

They had a plan. Admittedly it was a reckless, and slightly suicidal plan, but a plan nonetheless.

Tony was doing a few quick repairs on one of his gauntlets while the others were all going over their own equipment. Clint had spread some of his specialized arrows over the coffee table, while Natasha adjusted her bites beside him.

After their little meeting with Fury and Coulson, the Barton-Rogers couple had disappeared upstairs. Only Clint had returned. Steve was still MIA.

Tony wasn’t sure if he trusted this blast from the past. Sure the man had been a hero in his day, but he had been hiding out a farm while the world went to shit. What did that say about him?

A little nagging voice reminded Tony of all the years he had been too busy partying and drowning in the wonder of his own genius to recognize how his weapons were destroying lives. 

Footsteps on the stairs brought Tony’s head up. As Steve came into view, Tony did his best not to swallow his tongue.

He couldn’t deny that he had thought Steve to be an attractive enough specimen in the farmer getup. But now…

Somewhere, somehow, Steve Rogers had gotten an update to his uniform. It was a skintight material, similar to the suit Natasha wore, but done up in dark blue with highlights of crimson red and a white star in the center of his chest. It left little to the imagination.

As impressive as his musculature was, the more impressive change was the face that was revealed now that he had shaved off that scraggly beard. Dear god, the man’s face alone would melt hearts. Someone, likely Barton, had helped him to trim up his hair as well. 

Standing at the base of the stairs, he looked every inch the American hero.

A wolf whistle cut through Tony’s thoughts. Carol was the one responsible. Natasha and Jan were clapping.

A light dusting of pink rose on Steve’s cheeks, one hand going to rub the back of his neck bashfully. “The beard doesn’t exactly fit well with the cowl.”

Clint rose from the chair he had been occupying, a predatory stalk to his step. He stopped a few feet from his husband.

“Do you, uh, do you like it,” Steve asked, a wary note to his voice.

When Clint crashed their lips together, the women’s applause only grew.

“I’ll, ah, I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve said breathlessly when they drew apart.

“Allright. Let’s just stop with the PDA,” Tony said, getting to his feet. “We’ve got a robot to dismantle.”

 

###

 

Ultron was gone. Truly gone. 

Tony’s tracers had been searching for remnants of him on the net and all his personal servers, but there wasn’t a single piece. 

Sokovia was in ruins, but the population had survived for the most part. The few casualties were still a loss, but considering that the number could have been in the thousands and millions Tony was willing to say the day was a win.

Most surprising had been Captain America. Though he certainly had never trained with any of them before, he seemed to have a firm grasp of their capabilities. He had expertly maneuvered them across the battlefield. He’d been able to coordinate with Fury and Coulson to get the civilians evacuated. He had even turned the Maximoffs to their side.

To be honest, Tony was reluctantly impressed.

They were back at the Mansion now. Treating injuries, feeding appetites, resting. Or well, passed out. Clint was certainly in that last category. He had only moved enough to take of his gear before crashing into the first couch he spotted. Steve had smiled fondly when he had come upon the scene. With careful movements, he had lifted Clint’s head and slid himself in to act as a pillow. 

Tony was watching them both from across the room as he used his tablet to keep an eye on his tracers. 

“So Cap?”

Steve looked up from his contemplation of Clint’s sleeping form. “Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Can you not call me that please? Makes me feel like my father.”

“I can assure you that you are not your father.” Tony felt his defense snark revving up, but Steve continued. “Howard would have had a great deal to say about how I’ve chosen to live my life and who I’ve chosen to love. Clint tells me that you are one of the most accepting people he’s ever met.” Throwing a nod toward the noise the others were making in the kitchen, Steve grinned. “The present company is proof of that. I don’t know anyone else who would open their home to such diverse characters.” He ran a hand through Clint’s hair absently. “I wanted to thank you for that you know. For giving Clint a place to call home when he can’t be on the farm. He needed that, especially after Loki.”

Thrown by Steve’s gratitude, Tony could only stare for a moment. His mind whirled trying to remember the original topic he’d wanted to discuss, but like a scratched record he could only seem to hear “you are not your father” on repeat.

“Would it be all right if I called you Tony instead?”

“Yes! I, uh, I mean yes. Tony is fine. I can call you Steve then?”

The blonde smiled broadly. “Absolutely. We’ve fought together. You’re entitled to a lot more than just a first name.”

“If that’s an invitation, I would love to say yes. However, I value my family jewels and I know Clint would definitely remove mine if I took you up on it.”

Chuckling, Steve shook his head. “Not that kind of invitation, but if you had any questions about Howard or my years since the ice I’d be happy to answer the best I can.”

“Right. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Was there something you had to ask me,” Steve prompted.

“Yes. There was. How do you feel about coming out of retirement? I hear there’s an opening on a pretty elite team that might be right up your alley.”

Steve looked down at Clint once more, contemplating. “I’m not sure that the world wants a relic like me,” he finally replied.

“I think there’s a lot of people who would disagree,” Tony countered. “You could decide the way to spin it. Whether you would want people to know the truth or just keep your face hidden behind a mask and say someone new took up the cowl. We could protect your relationship status. No one would have to know.”

Tony observed the frown that was growing on Steve’s lips, and the way he was glancing at the wedding band on his left hand. On a hunch, he continued his pitch.

“Or you could come out. Let the world know just who you are and who you love.”

Steve’s head came up, eyes assessing the sincerity of Tony’s words. “You really think I could do that? That there wouldn’t be backlash?”

“Of course there will be,” Tony retorted. “But I think you’re the kind of man who jumps on the grenade to save others. I think you’ve been watching the way this world’s been turning and you’ve been itching to help. Captain America did his part already. Now Steve Rogers can take his turn.” Tony turned his gaze to the tablet in his hand as if Steve’s answer was of no importance to him. As if he hadn’t seen the damage hateful words could do to a person who was simply trying to follow their heart. “You know, only if you want to.”

When the silence stretched on and Steve still hadn’t responded, Tony looked up. 

Clint eyes were open. The two Barton-Rogers men locked in a gaze that was communicating far more than Tony could decipher.

Then Clint slowly smiled, closed his eyes, and readjusted his resting position. 

Steve lifted his eyes from his lover and smirked wickedly. “Bet you I can make a conservative cry on the first interview.”

Tony, always one to gamble, nodded. “I’m in. Stakes?”

“I’ve been in the market for a new bike.”

“New bike for you if you win. If I win… I get to throw you the gayest anniversary party New York has ever seen. Deal?”

With a laugh, Steve agreed.

From Steve’s lap, Clint mumbled. 

“What was that Legolas?” 

Opening just one eye, Clint pinned Tony with his gaze. “Sucker.”

Steve Barton-Rogers threw his head back and laughed.


End file.
